Silent Hill Militia Volume 2: Hell Hath No Fury
by Cyber 14
Summary: Cheryl Mason is once again entangled in Silent Hill's saga as she is forced to return to the town and, with the aid of the Silent Hill Militia, continue the fight, while once again trying keep Julian safe from the horrors that lurk in the fog.
1. Ash Tales

Well, here it is. Hell Hath No Fury, Silent Hill Militia Volume 2. Enjoy, and leave a review on your way out.

A note on the timeline: because there has never been anything official put out by Konami regarding exact dates for the specific games in the series, I am assuming the series is set in the "present day" and that the original Silent Hill is set "seventeen years ago" There are several fan timelines out there which, although thorough, make a lot of assumptions, as there are sparse few facts regarding dates. A timeline was released with the Book of Lost Memories supplement, but its most recent entry was for the murder of Silent Hill's mayor, taking place in, quote: "19XX". From this we can assume that Silent Hill was meant to have a floating timeline. This is the theory I support and the Militia universe, at least, is set in the present day.

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"If ya flick 'em, they get brighter," theorized eleven-year-old Julian Kansler as he tapped at a dusty lightbulb with his fingernail. Sure enough, at every tap, the struggling filament elicited a brief upsurge in brightness that quickly settled back to its original state once the white glass had stopped vibrating.

'Quit it," a voice from behind him said, "They're fine. We're lucky they work as they are."

Julian turned and surveyed the room, a dark first floor parlor with peeling greenish wallpaper, moth-eaten rigs, and a clear inch of dust over everything. The light from the weary fixtures barely reached the edges of the small, squareish space. Most of the room's light was blocked by a set of threadbare curtains, which obscured the grayish, sooty outdoor light from penetrating far into the gloom. Outside, the wind picked up, howling down through the fog-shrouded streets and rattling the loose panes of glass in their sockets.

"They're fine?" Julian replied incredulously, "It's pitch dark in here. Usually if there's enough light, you don't need to use flashlights," He gestured to several of the men in the room, who had taken out flashlights to accomplish their various tasks, Sanders was spit-polishing his corporal's pins under the faint red light of his flashlight, while Foley was fieldstripping his Beretta 9000S under the white lens of his.

"Okay, you got me," replied Sergeant Saltzmon, "But we have orders to stay low until we're finished with the sweep. We can't do anything about it or else we'll have all sorts of monsters down on us, and that's the last thing we need," he finished.

"Well how long are we gonna be sitting here in the dark for?" Julian retorted.

"Just until second squad is done with the sweep of next door. Then we'll finally have this block cleansed," said Saltzmon, "They should be finishing up now,"

………

Cheryl Mason advanced down the hall, weapon raised, the molded metal of the trigger guard biting into her finger as the digit rested along its dull gray surface. She swept the IMI Uzi at every shadow and crevice, the light coming from the small flashlight in her right vest pocket illuminating every stretch of dank wall, every dust-lined corner.

Something flicked into Cheryl's peripheral vision, something bloody, like raw meat…a hand…

She spun around. Nothing. Only a length of unused hall, shadows, and silence.

Chuckling to herself and chalking it up to imagination, she turned and continued on into the silent house.

She approached the final door of the hall, the master bedroom, situated at the very end of the hall, much like in a dream where a person runs toward a door at the end of a hall and it just gets further and further away.

This door, thankfully, didn't shrink away, but arrived, solid and unmoving, before Cheryl, who backed up and promptly kicked it open. Hearing no immediate sounds from within, she advanced slowly into the dark space, training her weapon over the moth-eaten bed, the dusty wardrobe, and the - wait a minute – nope, empty adjoining bathroom. Cheryl keyed her radio link and responded, "Clear. Residence 19 all clear, no contact,"

She headed back down the stairs and out onto the foggy street outside, toward the Humvee where Sergeant Gregs was waiting. He looked up as Cheryl approached.

"All clear, eh," he said, in his usual thick Australian accent, "Finally, some tunes," He leaned into the Humvee's cab and suddenly the lonely, twanging guitars of Korn's 'Falling Away from Me' blasted from the vehicle's speakers. Gregs was an ardent music lover, and hosted the Militia's in-town radio station, Radio Silent Hill, that could be picked up on specially blessed vehicle radios.

The rest of second squad filed out. First came Maximillian Tasher, hoisting the sling of the Winchester Defender shotgun he had been carrying onto his shoulder. He was followed closely by Zak Harper and "Oddball" Odd Larkin, the former wiping beads of sweat from his dark skinned forehead, while the latter holstered his two-toned Taurus PT92 into its shoulder rig opposite the 6' barreled Smith and Wesson 686 the rig was also supporting.

"Ahh, Gregs and his music. I knew it." Intoned Harper, "Didn't I tell you, Odd, I knew it."

"What I'm worried about," replied Larkin, his thick southern drawl rolling off his words as he spoke, "Is how Tash over there is gonna pay me back. That house was empty, you owe me seventy five bucks my friend, so cough up."

"Tash" Tasher looked up, his dark eyes fixed slyly on Larkin. "I'll take it off of the hundred you owe me," he said simply.

"Hey, Cheryl," called Harper upon seeing her, "Chaplain Simmons here yet?"

"Nope, still waiting on him, don't know what the problem is," Cheryl replied, "He should've been here ten minutes ago."

"Ohh I'm sure it'll be something suitably heroic and holy," chuckled Harper, pulling a pack of gum from his jacket pocket, "Gum?"

"No thanks," Cheryl replied, "I should probably go tell first squad that we're done."

Straightening up from where she had been leaning against the Humvee, Cheryl started down the street and approached the house where the members of first squad, and Julian, were waiting.

"Heeey, took you long enough," Specialist Foley replied, slapping the magazine back into his reassembled Beretta and looking up, "No contact I presume,"

"Nope," Cheryl replied, "Emptier than a Janitor's booth at a career fair. Bad news is we'll be here for a while. Simmons isn't here yet, and we can't reclaim the block without him doing the reconsecration,"

"You know that never does anything," Corporal Sanders interjected, repinning his rank pins to his collar, "They come back whether or not we consecrate the place or not. It makes no immediate difference whether or not we leave. I say post a guard detail to watch the place and the rest of us can leave."

"In a hurry, Sanders?" Cheryl asked, raising an eyebrow, "Got somewhere to be?"

"I only meant…" Sanders started.

'I know what you meant," Cheryl cut him off, "Look, the spiritual side of this fight isn't always rays of light and miracles. It's not always as…dramatic as this," she continued, gesturing around the decrepit room, "But it's necessary. You can't see it, but it's there. Just because the house doesn't look any different after consecration doesn't mean it isn't. We wait for Chaplain Simmons. Those were his orders."

"I didn't mean I don't believe in…" Sanders started again.

"You didn't say it, but it was part of your question anyway," Cheryl interrupted him a second time, "What I mean that the area isn't fully _secured_, metaphysically, until Simmons does the reconsecration. Our orders are to secure these blocks, both physically and spiritually, and to remain there in force until they are reconsecrated, and leaving before that's done all the way is the same as deserting our posts. We're stuck here."

Cheryl crossed the room and sank onto a moth-eaten couch next to Sanders, "Simmons should be here in ten minutes, tops," Cheryl addressed the room at large, "So don't look so worried. Gregs and the rest of second squad are outside. If anything's coming, he'll let us know,"

'If I know Gregs and I do," Saltzmon interjected, "He'll be deafening himself with Mettalica right now. I think I can hear it," Sure enough, incoherent notes were drifting in through the half-open door, teasing at the edges of the soldiers' hearing.

"It's Korn this week," Cheryl informed him, "I'm glad. I got so sick of 'Sanitarium' since I got here…" she trailed off.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, punctuated only by the howl of the wind and the faint trill of music bleeding from inside the Humvee out front, the doors obviously shut tight against the wind and the volume cranked.

Foley eventually broke it. " So, LT. How'd you guys get here? You and Julian, I mean. How'd you…uhh, end up in this mess?"

"You don't want to hear that story," interjected Cheryl.

"Yes I do," persisted Foley.

"No you don't," Cheryl repeated, ripping into the wrapper of a ration bar and extracting the pasty lump from within the glittering package.

"We've got time," Foley said, obviously intent on testing the young officer's patience.

Cheryl sighed, dropping the bar onto the table with a thunk. "You really want to hear the story?" she asked, "Really?"

"Yep," said Foley.

"Okay," Cheryl replied, "Julian, heads up. I need your help in this,"

"Don't drag me into this," Julian said defensively, raising his hands in protest.

"Ohh no, if Foley wants to hear this ohh-so-thrilling tale, he's gonna have to live with the guilt of forcing you to help me retell it as well. Can you live with that guilt, Specialist Foley?"

"Yep," said Foley nonchalantly.

"Well don't all rush to my defense at once," Julian said sarcastically, looking around the room at Saltzmon and Sanders. Both of them just shrugged and went back to their game of Crazy Eights.

Julian sighed and sank back in his seat, adopting the air of a famous gunslinger that has just given in to a request to regale the saloon with tales of his exploits. "Well," he started, "It all started a few days before we got here…"

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Cliffhangers rock. I'll post the next chapter soon.

Take notice, everyone, of how a certain Silent Hill veteran kept her finger off of the trigger. That's gun safety rule number one; the first thing they teach you in the military, at the police range, or at hunters' safety. Always keep your finger off the trigger until you have made the conscious decision to shoot and have your target sighted in. Hollywood breaks this rule all the time and it always makes me cringe (although they are getting better). Just trying to spread the word. Be safe, and a gun will never hurt you.

Korn is one of my favorite bands, and 'Falling Away from Me' was the first Korn song I ever heard, so I thought I'd include them in the story. The other song mentioned is "Sanitarium (Welcome Home)" by Metallica.

Hope you enjoyed. Read and review please.


	2. Omens

Here's chapter 2, enjoy. The next chapter will be along as soon as I get it finished.

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The bell rang. School was over and the students of Julian's school streamed out onto the lawn, excitedly telling their friends of their plans for the weekend, or else organizing get-togethers or online meetings.

Julian followed the crowd out onto the sun-strewn lawn in front of the school, breaking away from the press of exited students when he saw a group of kids congregating under a tree on the grounds. Julian headed over to his gang of friends, who waved him over.

At first glance, it looked as though they were all there. There was Ben Coliana, a skinny boy with a round, tanned face and short dark hair, Julian's friend since first grade. There was Ben's younger brother John, with a skinnier face and longer, almost collar length hair, as well as Cassie Jenson, a thin faced, brown haired girl and John's best friend. Out of the whole group, John and Cassie, although the youngest of the group at nine years old, shared the most history together; friends since pre-K, they were seldom seen apart.

The only one missing was Eli Locklear. Julian was about to ask if anyone knew where he was when he spotted Eli in the tree above him, crouching among the branches. Julian mentally wondered why he hadn't spotted him until then, the yellow shirt hanging from Eli's scrawny frame seemingly hard to miss on this bright, sunny day.

"Anyone got any gum?" Ben asked to no one in particular, "That lunch is still on my breath. Yecch. Terrible,"

"It wasn't that bad," Julian replied, thinking of the bratwurst they had been served that day for lunch.

"Hey Julian you should know, as a fellow German, calling that crap 'sauerkraut' is a mortal sin. That was pulverized cabbage in vinegar," Ben continued distastefully.

"Isn't that what sauerkraut basically is?" Julian asked, "sour cabbage?"

"Are fish paste and caviar both fish? They're not the same. Come on, you can't have _liked_ it?"

"I didn't like or dislike it," Julian said, "It was school food, created with the cheapest ingredients an unwillingness to spend money can buy. You can't be expecting true German cuisine on bratwurst day,"

"True," piped up Cassie, "Still, better than nothing, I guess,"

"Yeah," said John, "Julian, you said your parents are out of town. So you're staying with Cheryl this weekend?"

"Yep. Conference in Minneapolis," Julian replied.

"Weren't they gonna take you along this time?" interjected Eli, dropping down from the tree next to Cassie.

"They were going to, but then there was a booking mix up, and they found the travel agency only reserved them plane tickets for two people, and it was too late to rebook," Julian shrugged, "Probably wouldn't have been all that much fun anyway. Chicago's cooler, in my opinion. Windy though,"

"You're right. It is," came a voice from Julian's left. He turned to see two blonde figures crossing the lawn towards them, Julian's cousins Jessie and Katie. They were average height, if a little thin, with thick, collar-length blonde hair. The most interesting thing about them, though, was the fact that they both looked almost identical, even though they were of the opposite sex. It was very disconcerting. If Julian hadn't grown up with them living right across the street, more siblings than cousins, he doubted he could tell them apart at a glance. This was due almost entirely to the fact that Katie was the very definition of a tomboy, always preferring boyish clothing and hairstyles to more feminine tastes, although the occasional girly shopping trip now and again wasn't above her.

Julian could, however, tell Jessie and Katie apart by their habits, namely, the fact that Jessie was threading a novelty coin through his fingers like a gambler with a poker chip. He had the habit of doing this as far back as Julian could remember and it was a convenient way to tell them apart from a distance.

Jessie, the one who had spoken, turned to his sister, "You remember, the wind was so strong there you could almost lean back into it and you wouldn't fall,"

"Yep", replied Katie, popping an earbud from her ear and letting it swing, it and its chord suspended in midair by its connection to another earbud, which snaked up and out of sight into Katie's thick hair. Julian walked over to her and scooped the swinging earbud up. "Show me How To Live' by Audioslave met his ear.

"Well it isn't called the 'windy city' for nothing," Cassie said with a chuckle.

'Actually, it's called the windy city because of all the politicians and their hot air. Not because of the wind," Julian informed her.

"Well, it was still windy," Jessie said.

"You got 100th Window on there yet?" Julian asked Katie, remembering that he had burned her a copy of the Massive Attack album the Tuesday before.

"Nope, not yet. But I did listen to it. It's not bad. The first song, Future Proof, is my favorite. Then there's that one with the fast beat…what was it…Butterfly Caught. That was a good one too," Katie replied, 'Ohh, and that twenty minute one. What was it called?"

"Antistar,"

"Right,"

"Hey, Eli," a voice called from the group's left. Julian turned and saw Kelsee Locklear, Eli's older sister, walking across the lawn towards them. She was a tall girl of thirteen, with long dark hair and a round, friendly face. Her and Julian's cousin Nick were good friends. "We've gotta go," she continued, "Mom wants us home. We're taking that desk downstairs and her and dad need our help,"

Eli groaned, "Why?"

"To cushion the fall. They're gonna roll it down the stairs and they don't want it getting banged up when it hits the bottom. We get to lay at the bottom and stop it from hitting the floor," she said sarcastically, "I don't know. But mom wants us home so we have to go. Come on," Seeing Julian she asked, "Hey Julian, have you seen Nick anywhere,"

"No," Julian said, "Why?"

"Well Nick-ey owes me some mon-ey. He lost the bet. Nathan and Connor had a drinking contest with all that chocolate milk Nick took from the Scout campout, and Connor lost. He owes me two bucks,"

"So that's where all the chocolate milk went. Huh. So to answer your question, no, I haven't seen him,"

"Well, that's okay. He can't hide forever," Kelsee said with an evil laugh, "Come on. Let's go Eli,"

"See you guys," Eli said despondently, gathering his backpack and turning to follow his sister.

Just then, a car pulled up and parked at the curb. A window rolled down and the distinctive sounds of the clown-rap group Insane Clown Posse issued from within.

…_and popped me in the face_

_It blew me off the porch, _

_and cracked my head in half_

_But I'm a Juggalo,_

_So it only made me laugh…_

"Yo, Julian," a voice from within called.

"Well, there's my ride too. See you guys. Maybe we can get together or something," Julian said, as he returned Katie's earbud. He gathered his backpack and headed for the car, his friends calls of 'goodbye' and 'see ya' chasing him across the lawn as he went.

"Hey, Julian," Cheryl Mason called from behind the wheel, 'Get in,"

Julian climbed in and closed the door. As he was buckling himself in, Cheryl pulled away from the curb and started down the street.

"You like ICP?" Julian asked, indicating the Ipod plugged into the dashboard.

"Nope," Cheryl said, "Well, not _as a group_. But they've got some good songs,"

"They're okay. Not really my taste," Julian replied.

"Not mine either, except for a couple of songs. You really gotta be in the mood for them," Cheryl said, gazing out at the road ahead through the lenses of her sunglasses.

"Right," Julian replied.

"Let's put something else on," Cheryl said, reaching toward the Ipod and thumbing through the playlist. Eventually she settled on a song and hit the 'play' button.

Julian listened for a minute before speaking; "Hey I looked up the lieutenant rank earlier, and it said you have to have about eighteen months of service as a commissioned officer before you're eligible for it. So how'd you get it?"

Cheryl chuckled, "Sorry to break it to you, kiddo, but my 'rank' doesn't mean jack squat outside of the militia. I couldn't, for instance, waltz over to Afghanistan or someplace and start ordering soldiers around. It's more of an honorary thing, like a brevet rank. Just means I have some say because of my history with the town,"

"Oh," Julian replied.

"Yeah, just honorary. But still, higher than what I thought I'd get. When I heard they were giving me rank, I thought they'd just give me like a private or maybe a specialist but no, they wanted me at the top echelons," Cheryl went on, "You see I'm their walking encyclopedia, their…wealth of information. I know how it all works, all the structure and mechanics, given my…colorful history with the place. Well, _most_ of the mechanics anyway. Now that the dynamic has shifted, the cult's changed things up a bit. But all that they do still follows a set pattern. It's still part of a system that is based on rules, and those rules can't be changed. Anyway," she went on, "It's not even a real rank. It's something like "Lieutenant by Warrant". I think that's what they called it. Basically a way for me to have access to everything and to put my expertise to use. To be there when they need me for a problem and have the formal authority to get things done, within reason. Unfortunately that also means my rank is absolutely meaningless outside of this very specialized position. But in the end though," she chuckled, "rank is rank."

"Cool," Julian said, "So, how _does_ it all work? What _are_ the mechanics behind it all? You never go into any details."

"That's classified."

Silence reigned for a few minutes, broken only by the rumble of the engine and the music issuing from the radio.

"So," Cheryl said after a while, "Mixup with the tickets then, eh?"

"Yep," Julian said, "But I don't really mind. Would've been boring anyway. Just a big long meeting with some haulage firm guys."

"Yeah how's that going? They gonna rent from you guys?" Cheryl asked interestedly.

"Probably. They don't need a huge place. They're just looking for some temporary offices until construction's finished on their expansion," Julian finished.

"Hmm," Cheryl replied. Julian's parents owned 'Kansler Investments' a company that rented office space to clients in need of it. It was a modest company, but brought in a respectable amount of money and good customer satisfaction, enough, at least, to finally expand the company and purchase a new building to lease for more office space, and receive a lease request from 'Carvell and Smith's Trucking', a decent-sized trucking firm serving much of the state.

"Should be a shoe-in," Julian said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah,"

"Well that's good,"

"Yes. It _is_ good,"

Three hours later, Cheryl crouched behind a corner; her hands slick with sweat, twin Uzis in hand, waiting for the inevitable moment when someone would round it, only to be cut down in a hail of high power, automatic gunfire. She tensed, waiting…waiting…

Boom.

She toppled, caught in the explosion of a plasma grenade lobbed in the brown zombie standing triumphantly over her.

"Ohh no way," she exclaimed incredulously, as her character respawned, freshly healed but carrying only a lowly pistol, "There was no way he could have capped me from behind. And where the h…eck were you? You were supposed to have my back,"

"I was dead. One of 'em got me too," Julian said defensively from Cheryl's right, adjusting his seat on the beanbag chair, looking annoyed and amused, "You think it was the same zombie?"

"Could have been. I…" before Cheryl could finish her thought, the phone rang, "I got it," she said, standing up and hitting pause on the Ipod sitting on the floor.

Cheryl walked to the phone charger. Plucking the gray receiver from its holder, she hit the 'talk' button, "Hello," she said, bringing the cold plastic of the phone's squareish frame up to her ear.

"Hey Heather. Julian there?" came Katie Kansler's voice from the other end.

"Hi Katie. Hold on. Julian! Phone's for you," she called. Julian jumped up and came over, taking the receiver and lifting it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said tentatively.

"Julian," Katie started, "Good news and bad news. The good news is that we finally got those photos back from the print shop. The ones that the school paper took of the store for that 'family business' series they're thinking of running next month."

"Yeah, good. What's the bad news," Julian asked, somehow dreading the answer.

"The bad news is that they suck," came Katie's voice in disgust, "I mean, have these people ever heard of leading lines. And I'm not even gonna get started on rule of thirds…"

"Wait a minute," Julian interrupted her incredulously; "You called me all the way out here just so you could start a big long rant about picture composition. Isn't that what you've got Jessie for? So you could have someone else to rant to so you don't have to bother the sane world with your endless tirades. I mean they couldn't have been that bad."

"Couldn't have been that bad?" Katie continued, unheeded, "This is our family's reputation on the line. Yours too. And I will not have our name slandered by crappy photography. Honestly, I should just take the pictures myself. Get 'em right,"

"You do that," said Julian uninterestedly. Julian's parents, along with running Kansler Investments, co-owned, along with Katie's parents, "Downtown Gifts' a coffee and gift shop in downtown Larson Grove, a small town roughly thirty-five miles from the city. The store had been in business for decades, ever since Katie's mom purchased what was, at the time, an old hardware store, and convinced Julian's parents to go in on it with her, and Julian didn't think a few poorly composed photographs in a school newspaper would harm the business's reputation much. Therefore, he found it hard to sympathize with Katie's frustration, "Bye Kates," he said.

"This isn't over yet," Katie said dramatically at the other end, "I shall press on, until justice is don…" Julian hit the 'off' button, cutting off Katie's voice mid-sentence.

"You do that," Julian said again.

"What did Katie want?" Cheryl asked, reaching over and fiddling with the Ipod again.

"Just wanted to rant about some pictures our school paper took of our store. Said they didn't look all that great," Julian replied.

"Well," Cheryl said, selecting a song and hitting play, "I don't know what to tell you there, kiddo,"

"Let's just drop it," Julian said.

"Right," Cheryl replied.

And so the battle resumed. Around midnight, Cheryl set down her controller and stretched. "Well, we should get to bed. We'll have to get up early if we want to the mall before it's swamped by the usual human cattle that flood the place on Saturdays,"

"Alright," Julian replied with a yawn, "I'm getting tired too,"

Cheryl was walking down a street shrouded in fog. Julian was up ahead, jogging purposefully into the all-consuming mist. She called out to him, called for him to wait up, that it was dangerous to go off alone without a weapon. Cheryl was holding the nickel-plated Sig Sauer pistol Julian had used during his brief ordeal. She ran and ran, but couldn't catch up to him. Then, something moved in the fog. It lunged at Julian, shapeless and formless, as if the universe itself was slashing out at him. Cheryl got a split-second glance of a shiny black insectoid figure with long bladed arms before it had Julian, and was gone.

Cheryl jerked awake, drenched in cold sweat. Just a dream. She remembered where she was. She was at home, with Julian. She wasn't in Silent Hill, and that creature didn't have him.

Just as she was calming down, however, she felt it. A cold, eerie chill swept through the room. She jumped from the bed and lunged for her dresser, for a shiny, silver, rectangular object. She scooped up the cigarette lighter and flicked it open, striking the flint with shaking hands. Then, the flame was lit, dancing warm and yellow in front of her wide eyes. She raised it high, moving it around the room, walking over to the bed for good measure. An immense sense of relief stole over her. It wasn't a world shift. The flame would have turned green if they were in transition into one of Silent Hill's iconic dimensions. It was an old Militia trick. Somehow the shifting realities caused the flame to glow a bright lime green, and so every Militiaman carried a lighter like the one Cheryl was clutching, in case he or she suspected a world shift, but it hadn't become obvious yet. Cheryl dearly wished that she had been carrying a lighter that fateful day at the Central Square shopping center. But then she would tell herself that, even if she had seen the emerald flame, she wouldn't have known what it had entailed, in any case.

Cheryl flicked the lid closed on the dancing flame, mentally chalking the chill up to the after-effects of her dream. Still, she crossed the room and cracked open her door. Sure enough, there was Julian, sleeping on the couch, safe and sound. Cheryl sighed, closed the door, and crossed the room to her bed. _It was only a dream, _she thought as she lay back down, _Good. Man, what a nightmare. I hope Julian, at least, is having better dreams than I am._

Little did she know, however, that both of them were in for a nightmare decidedly more horrific then anything Julian could possibly be dreaming.

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What did you think? Next up: Faith In Their Hands.

Read and review please. That shiny lavender button down there is calling your name.


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